I moved to swanky ass Hancock Park. Yes, far, far away from the digs in good old Santa Monica. Thanks to my red headed stepchild guardian angel, Vayu, I landed the Holy Grail job as a building manager. A couple hours of extra work a day in exchange for paying no monthly rent. A better future for Jo and my son. Of course, like anything good, there’s compromise. I commute about 35 minutes in the afternoon to Rustic, which blows ass, but my neighborhood is ultra cool. I can walk places now. The Larchmont farmer’s market is four blocks away. Providence is two blocks away…Not that I’d ever go there…And this place, Kuya Lord, is about ten blocks away. I drove by the other day on my way to Western Ave. to get water (long story) and saw it and thought to myself, “What the hell is a Kuya Lord?” I thought it was a comic book store until I got home and googled it.

Since moving to LA I’ve met a ton of Filipino people, the big Chopped kahuna Mat Espiritu, our old sous chef at Rustic, being one of them. He’s the one who turned me on to the cuisine, which is and always has been entirely mysterious to me. The Philippines are vast and indecipherable with many cuisines changing not just from its crazy archipelago of 7,641 islands but also from neighborhood to neighborhood. For this reason, it’s one of the most insane food places in the world that no one has been to. There’s a mixture of all different varieties of cultures as well as their own styles and weird names, most of which I had a hard time pronouncing to the woman working at the counter.

There’s only one way to get familiar with something different–you gotta dig in.

I started just wanting to get some take out, but as I waited I got my son a bowl of rice to eat because we had just gotten back from the park. Just so you all know, three year olds have a mind of their own and bringing them to a restaurant is a goddam nightmare waiting to happen…But on this one occasion, my boy actually sat down at a table and started pounding down his rice. Yes, he got a good twenty percent of it on the floor but I got to eat my dish alongside him and enjoyed a well deserved break of rare good behavior on his part. Yeah, I was that asshole that ordered take out and then ate it in the place out of the container.

We sat at this weird little table in the center of the eating space. Low seats perfect for a child.

I ate the Lucenachon Bowl first. some tender pork with an insanely crispy skin. This delicious dirty rice called java, some fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, a little spiced vinegar, and something called “achara” which is pickled green papaya. What more could you ask for? I wolfed it all down and wished I had asked for a side of some hot sauce.

After cleaning up the rice mess as best I could, I took the rest of the take out home for later.

Kuya means older brother, the lord part? I guess that’s his first name which is pretty cool. I wish my first name was Lord or King or some regal shit like that.

Later in the night, I dove into the other dish, Pork Mami. Some vinegar marinated braised pork slices with egg, noodles, fresh cabbage, fried garlic, green onions, and garlic chili oil. Oh yeah baby. I’m a big noodle guy. I ate it cold out of the container with no shame (well, maybe a little).

The big conclusion here? I’m going back. It’s my thing, this hole in the wall type of establishment with great food. Maybe I”l return today to try something else. It’s quality food for good prices and it’s close by. I enjoy the counter service so I don’t have to endure speaking to an annoying waiter. It’s sort of a win win all the way through. My only slight on the place is the parking but whatever.